CHAPTER VI.
Grace was much too excited to feel keenly the parting with Margaret; indeed, the gravity of her young sister, while, of course, to be accounted for, she felt altogether as a drag upon her energies.
Like other girls of her peculiarly thoughtless nature she hated having to think of anything that was not what she considered cheerful; and she had not the power of throwing herself into the sorrows of any one, even of a sister, whose one fault it was, that she had allowed her clear instincts to be obscured and darkened by her passionate love for Grace, and her wish to give what she thought her very life depended upon at that moment.
Accustomed to be considered, it was new to her to find that she had twice to change her place to suit Lady Lyons, who was one of the women who imagine that, whatever happens to belong to another, from a husband to a corner in a railway-carriage, must be superior to anything they have themselves.
Grace was good-humoured, and changed her seat cheerfully, although she felt the difference. Margaret would have borne any discomfort rather than disturb her. But the thought that she was going to join the world in London and form one of the giddy throng was too enchanting to her not to support her under any surprises—she was so determined to be happy.
She was surprised beyond measure that Margaret's marriage should have left her the winner in the race; but it was satisfactory that, as she cared for money and Margaret did not, she should have it, and Margaret would soon forget that horrible man, who was, however, not all horrible, since he had done this.
"Pray see about your luggage, Miss Rivers," said Lady Lyons, very languidly, when they arrived at the station.
"Surely your maid can do that," said Grace, with a little toss of her head.
"How can she possibly know your luggage when she has never seen it?" asked Lady Lyons, fretfully, but not without a show of reason.
"Maids should have instincts," said Grace, as she sailed along the platform to point out her boxes.